


all i know is green eyes, your freckles and your smile.

by tesselated



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, cisgirl!direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesselated/pseuds/tesselated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's eyes fluttered closed, and Zayn tried to stop herself from looking at the curve of her lips quirked upward, tried to stop herself from memorizing the way her eyelashes fell against her cheeks, but she just couldn’t.</p><p>Or, a genderswap AU in which one direction is the world's biggest girlband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i know is green eyes, your freckles and your smile.

**Author's Note:**

> tattoo/tour/relationship timelines may be a little wonky lol sorry. it's taken me like 14 attempts to actually finish a zarry fic, SO. idk enjoy whatever

 

Even before she met Harry, she was a presence. A bright light, easy to spot from a distance.

 

Zayn remembers seeing her from across the crowded room backstage at bootcamp, her curls bound by a beanie. She was grinning wide, looking faux-confident. There was a group around her, drawn in like people always are to Harry.

 

Zayn didn’t even have the energy for faux-confidence; her fingers tapped at the windowpane next to her, her stomach tying itself in knots.

 

She couldn’t stop comparing herself to the other girls she had seen, to the way they could move and sing and the way she couldn’t. She felt nauseous when she remembered Simon Cowell’s face in front of hers, telling her to get her shit together (in fewer words, of course).

 

She almost didn’t hear it when the producer called her name, along with that chatty Irish girl’s, a serious-looking brunette, a short girl with a smirk on her face that she felt like she’d seen around, and Harry’s.

 

The five of them barely looked at each other before agreeing to be a band, and Zayn felt a strange release where the ball of dread had been in her stomach.

 

Harry curled into a ball near the ground while the rest of them jumped up and down, hugging the near-strangers around them. When she got up, her stupid hat flopped off of her head, and Zayn smiled wide as she wrapped her arms around Harry for the first time.

 

++

 

“It’s fate, isn’t it? That...that we were all there, that we all like each other,” Harry had said, wrapped up in a blanket in one of the chairs that sat around the fire pit. The air smelled like smoke and marshmallows, and Zayn glanced around the circle.

 

Niall was nodding at Harry, her marshmallow burning to shit, and Louis just grinned, looking a little disbelieving. Liam was blushing, like she hadn’t realized that they liked her; she hadn’t figured Liam out yet. As someone who had been told she had a bit of a shell to come out of for most of her life, she recognized some of it in Liam, who sat quietly on Louis’ other side.

 

“It’s fate.” Niall agreed readily, and Zayn felt herself nodding. She never thought she believed in fate, really. Or destiny, any of that lot.

 

But something felt right between the five of them, an energy that Zayn hadn’t expected, full of potential.

 

Later, they played truth or dare, all drinking pilfered beer except Liam.

 

Louis kept picking dares, and they kept getting more creative, until Louis was skinny dipping in the bungalow’s freezing cold pool.

 

Apparently on impulse, Harry jumped in after her, fully clothed, and Zayn felt a pang of jealousy. For who, she wasn’t sure; maybe for Harry, who could act spontaneously, who followed her instincts. Or maybe for Louis, for getting to be in Harry’s warm glow for a little while, in a way that Zayn couldn’t.

 

++

 

The audience loved Louis and Harry, their careless affection evident every time there were cameras on them. Liam played the role of band mother easily, fretting over the details of their performances and offering to do laundry for Niall, whose suitcase seemed to have exploded at some point in their stay in the X-Factor house. Niall was cute and bubbly, her loud laugh and blonde hair enough for anyone to get attached to.

 

Zayn didn’t know where she fit, if she was honest with herself. She got labelled as the quiet one, the brooding one, occasionally as the “bad girl.” She had to put it in air quotes every time she said it, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She just wasn’t sure what made her bad, thought about it sometimes when she couldn’t fall asleep. The cigarettes, the town she was from? Her skin tone, her last name?

 

She had to stop herself from obsessing over it, to keep herself focused on the work she had to do instead of what The Sun wrote articles about.

 

The four of them brought out the best in her, she thought. She remembers Niall’s surprised laugh the first time Zayn said something in the ridiculous Desi accent she used sometimes when she wasn’t thinking, she remembered the warm feeling in her gut at it.

 

She remembers their stupid video diaries, Louis’ loud voice and Harry’s warm hands always finding their way onto Zayn’s shoulders, in her hair, tickling at her sides.

 

They got invited to some party one night and had all managed to get decently tipsy (Liam was always the exception, forever conscious of her health), and staggered as they pushed together two of their mattresses on the floor so they could all huddle together, like that night at the bungalow.

 

They had a performance in a few nights, the one that ended up being their last, and instead of talking about it they talked about everything else, about Louis’ boyfriend back home, their brothers, dumb stories, everything.

 

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” Harry asked them, and Liam and Louis shook their heads.

 

“Once, when I was drunk.” Niall said, a grin on her face, and Harry grinned back.

 

“What about you?” Harry asked, nudging Zayn with her foot.

 

“Uh, yeah.” Zayn answered, her heart pounding against her will. “I’m kind of, uh, gay, sort of.”

 

Harry nodded, and Louis tilted her head in confusion. “Sort of?”

 

“I’m still, uh. Figuring it out, I guess.” Zayn said, feeling herself flush, and she was grateful no one could see her red cheeks in the dark.

 

“So gay-adjacent.” Louis said, and the sound of everyone’s hushed laughter chased Zayn’s - well, she didn’t know what to call it. Nervousness, she supposed. The subject dropped a moment later when Niall started talking about Ireland in a wistful voice.

 

Late that night, when Zayn thought everyone was asleep except her, Harry turned over to face her, poking her nose to get her to open her eyes.

 

“Hi,” Harry whispered in the darkness, and Zayn smiled, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

“I’m gay too, sort of. Well, I don’t know. I’m something. I’m - I like blokes too, sometimes, but I like girls.” Harry said in a rambling voice; she seemed to want to go on, but thought better of it, looking at Zayn with what might have been anxiety.

 

“Cool,” Zayn said, and Harry grinned wide.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’ve never told anyone before.” Zayn said, a small smile working onto her face, and Harry grinned.

  
“Me either.” Harry whispered, her eyes fluttering closed, and Zayn tried to stop herself from looking at the curve of her lips quirked upward, tried to stop herself from memorizing the way her eyelashes fell against her cheeks, but she just couldn’t.

 

++

 

“So your guys’ fans are obviously amazing, we can hear them from here,” the interviewer said to them in her drawling Georgia accent, her blindingly white smile shining at them from across the room. They sat in front of microphones, the big ones that Zayn had never realized radio stations actually had before about two years previously.

 

“Yeah, they’re brilliant!” Niall said enthusiastically, and the rest of them agreed quickly.

 

“How’s it feel to have so many young girls look up to you?” She asked them, and they all made considering noises.

 

“Unreal.” Harry answered, and Louis laughed.

 

“We’re just five normal girls, you know? To think that we’ve inspired people is amazing,” Louis said, and they all nodded.

 

“So I’ve gotta ask, what do you all look for in a boy?” The interviewer grinned at them innocently, and they all resisted the urge to groan. It was maybe the fiftieth time she remembered being asked this _month_ , and it struck a nerve.

 

Still, though. Zayn plastered on a neutral expression as they went down the line and said the same things they always did.

 

“A sense of humor!” Niall said, and Zayn wondered what it would take for Niall to stop talking in exclamations.

 

“Yeah, good sense of humor. Someone down-to-earth, as well.” Louis said, nodding.

 

“I like a boy who can cook.” Liam said, and they laughed.

 

“I like someone sweet, you know.” Harry said, and Louis laughed again.

 

“Yeah, Haz is a real romantic. Likes chocolates and flowers and all that. Cries at The Notebook.” Louis said, and the sounds of the both of them squawking filled the room as Harry leaned over to smack at Louis.

 

“Um, yeah, sense of humor is important. And just, someone who likes you for you.” Zayn said when the ruckus died down, Niall still giggling softly at the other end of the room.

 

“That’s deep, mate,” Louis said, and Niall started laughing again.

 

“You guys have been victims to a lot of rumors lately.” The interviewer said, looking like she wanted to take control of the interview again.

 

“Yeah, it’s something that comes with the job, I think. But it’s an amazing job, so it’s worth it. You just need to learn how to tune them out.” Liam said, and the four of them nodded again.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m dating half of London, right now.” Harry said, and the interviewer laughed.

 

“So you’re single, Harry?” She asked, and Harry gave her most charming grin.

 

“Very.” Harry said, and they all laughed at her.

 

“How about the rest of you?”

 

“Me and Liam are taken.” Louis said, raising Liam’s hand with her own and high-fiving her.

 

“The rest of us are single pringles,” Niall said, and Zayn snorted.

 

“How are you liking the American boys?” The interviewer asked, winking.

 

“I swear, I haven’t had time to meet a boy in about a year,” Niall said, and they grinned.

 

“American girls are quite pretty, though. Very tan.” Harry said, and Zayn felt her heart skip. She saw their eyes widen down the line, Paul raising his eyebrows from his position at the doorway. The interviewer laughed, looking a little confused but not pushing it.

 

“So last question, in light of your record-breaking new single, what makes each other beautiful?”

 

“Louis’ sense of humor.” Niall said, and they all murmured agreement.

 

“Niall’s beautiful because she doesn’t care if you think she’s beautiful or not.” Liam said, and Niall laughed loudly.

 

“Harry’s dimples!” Louis said, and Liam added, “And her hair.”

 

“Liam’s dance moves,” Zayn said, and Liam grinned, her laugh lines making her eyes look squinty.

 

“Zayn’s just pretty, isn’t she? Those cheekbones.” Harry said, turning to look at Zayn, and Zayn smiled despite herself as the interview wrapped up.

 

“You shouldn’t have said that, Haz, about American girls,” Zayn muttered as they walked out of the studio, bodyguards on either side of them.

 

“Well, sorry. Except that I’m not all that sorry.” Harry said out of the corner of her mouth, shrugging.

 

“You don’t need to, like, make a point on my behalf, or something.” Zayn said, and Harry rolled her eyes.

 

“I’m not doing anything on your behalf, you donut. I’m doing it because it gets annoying, getting asked about American boys.” Harry said, and Zayn didn’t have a chance to respond before they walked out the front door and had fans screaming at them from every side.

 

“I love you, Zayn!” A teenaged girl screamed, and Zayn grinned as she walked over, Sharpie in hand.

 

“Thanks, love.” Zayn said, scribbling her name over and over as she walked down the narrow sidewalk toward the SUV they were supposed to be piling in, off to their venue for the night.

 

“I like American interviewers better, I think.” Zayn said in the car.

 

“Yeah?” Liam asked, turning her head to look over at Zayn.

 

“Yeah. They know the broad strokes sometimes, but they never know what the actual rumors are. I haven’t had to answer one question about Perrie Edwards since we got here, because no one knows who the fuck she is.” Zayn said, grinning, and they nodded.

 

“Talking of Perrie Edwards, though,” Louis said, and Zayn laughed.

 

“She’s good. We haven’t talked in a week or so.” Zayn answered, and Niall punched her shoulder in what was probably intended to be a supportive gesture.

 

“What’s your plan there, anyway?” Liam asked, and Zayn shrugged.

 

“Right now my plan is to continue flirting with her from across the world.” Zayn said, and Liam grinned.

 

“That’d be news, wouldn’t it. Lesbian cross-girlband relationship.” Harry said, her head leaning against Niall’s shoulder and her eyes closed. Zayn laughed quietly.

 

“Yeah, that’d be an interesting day on twitter, hm?” Zayn said, and the car lapsed into a tired sort of silence, just the sound of the radio playing as they travelled across an unfamiliar state.

 

++

 

Whenever her phone rang before eight AM, a strong sense of panic filled her within seconds. _Did someone die? Who was in an accident? What’s going on?_ Her brain cycled through questions as she groped for her cell phone, trying not to jostle Perrie beside her.

 

It was Harry, she realized, catching sight of the caller ID, and the panic increased. _Is it someone in the band? Are you in jail?_

 

“Hello?” She said, her voice rough from sleep, and Harry murmured a greeting on the other end.

 

“S’goin on?” She half-whispered as Perrie turning over in her sleep.

 

“Um, Zayn, I...pictures of you and Pez, uh, leaked.” Harry said in a nervous voice, and Zayn felt her stomach drop.

 

“What kind of pictures?” Zayn asked, and Harry gave a short laugh.

 

“No, um. Pictures of you guys kissing from backstage at Madison Square Garden.” Harry said, and Zayn’s head dropped back onto the pillow.

 

“Fuck.” Zayn said shortly, and Harry sighed.

 

“Yeah. I just found out, uh. Don’t go on twitter.” Harry said, and Zayn didn’t respond. A cold sense of dread was creeping over her, and she imagined the trending topics.

 

“Zayn, promise me you won’t go on twitter.” Harry said, her voice sounding edgy, and Zayn sighed.

 

“Yeah, promise, promise. Fuck. _Fuck_.” Zayn said, and Perrie was stirring beside her.

 

“Thanks for the heads-up, Haz.” Zayn said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

 

“Yeah. You’ll be alright, okay? We’ll get it sorted, it’ll be okay.” Harry said, her voice so soft that it almost made Zayn want to cry.

 

“Love you.” Zayn said weakly, and she could hear Harry’s grin in her voice.

 

“Love you too, Zee. Talk to you later, okay?”

 

It turned out to be the first of many calls, her and Perrie on their cell phones at different ends of the flat with coffee in hand for hours.

 

Niall rang the doorbell at five, bags of take-away in her hands as she wrapped Zayn in a tight hug.

 

“Hey, babe.” Zayn said, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around Niall.

 

“It’s fuckin’ bullshit.” Niall said angrily, putting the bags down on the counter. Zayn gave a weak grin, grabbing three sets of silverware from a drawer.

 

“Hi Pez,” Niall said, waving to Perrie, who was sat on Zayn’s large leather sofa, phone pressed against her ear. She waved back over her head before continuing her conversation; it was someone serious, from the sound of it, and Zayn felt exhausted.

 

“So tell me what’s happening.” Niall said, opening her cardboard container and digging in.

 

“We talked to management. I’m gonna release a statement later this week, I guess. They’re still not sure what to do about Perrie.” Zayn said, sighing as she took a bite of the stir fry Niall brought.

 

“So like a Frank Ocean kind of thing.” Niall said, and Zayn laughed, though it sounded a little devoid of humor.

 

“I guess. Except it’s not exactly on my terms, is it?” Zayn said, and Niall wrapped her in another tight hug.

 

“We’re gonna lose sponsors.” Zayn said quietly, not looking at Niall, and Niall made a frustrated noise.

 

“Oi, Malik. I don’t give a shit, yeah? I care about you, and I care about Perrie. I don’t fuckin’ care about Nickelodeon spots and twitter trends.” Niall said fiercely, and Zayn grimaced, meeting Niall’s eyes.

 

“You haven’t gone on twitter, have you?” Niall asked, voice soft again, and Zayn shook her head.

 

“Tell me the worst of it.” Zayn said, and Niall sighed.

 

“Something with a nasty word in it trended for a few hours. I think that was the worst.” Niall said, and Zayn felt nauseous.

 

“You should see Louis’ twitter,” Niall added, and Zayn laughed. Louis had called her that morning, all burning anger about privacy and respect and double standards, ready to put together a cavalry. She could imagine the tweets.

 

“Thanks for the food, Ni.” Zayn said, pushing her noodles around in the box, her appetite gone.

 

“Yeah, ‘course. D’you want me to stay?” Niall said, reaching out to put her arm about Zayn.

 

“Nah, it’s fine. We’ve got more talking to do.” Zayn said, motioning back to Perrie, and Niall nodded.

 

She headed toward the door, but before she left she turned back to Zayn, eyebrows furrowed like she was concentrated.

 

“Fuck ‘em all, you know?” Niall said, and it sounded angry, but she knew what Niall meant, all the overly sappy things she was trying to tell Zayn without having to. _Fuck ‘em all because you don’t need them, fuck ‘em all because you have us._

 

“Love you too, Ni.” She said, and Niall grinned before walking out the door.

 

++

 

Her statement was fairly brief, explaining that she hadn’t felt ready to come out but that recent events had given her no choice, and that she was in fact gay.

 

Chat show hosts made off-hand jokes about it, bloggers called her brave, and twitter followers ranged from bigoted to overwhelmingly supportive.

 

The worst were the half-witty comedians who made jokes about how no one ever expected her, about how she didn’t fit the bill, wondering if she’d cut all her hair off now, wondering if it was all a publicity stunt.

 

Liam made sure people didn’t mention it in interviews, and if they did, they got the full force of Louis’ aggressive defense, all snide comments and harsh glares. When interviewers asked about boyfriends now they got awkward, looking over at Zayn and faltering.

 

Sometimes it was funny, but most times it just became another thing to _other_ herself with. She was the Pakistani one, the Muslim one, the gay one.

 

“I didn’t come out because I didn’t want this to happen,” she whined to Perrie one night, her head in Perrie’s lap as they watched some movie they’d both seen a dozen times.

 

Perrie sighed, her hand running through Zayn’s hair. She got it, but she didn’t quite _get_ it. After all, Perrie was a presence in Little Mix. She was pretty and blonde and could hit high notes (“You’re all those things too, Zayn. Except blonde.” She always said, rolling her eyes) and Zayn could feel her hostility mount every time Zayn complained about it.

 

That was before they were both on tour at the same time, before it got to be that they only saw each other once every two months.

 

“I miss you,” Zayn would say over the phone, wiping at her eyes and curling up in her too-big hotel bed.

 

“I miss you too.” Perrie said, sounding frustrated and upset and _tired_. Zayn was tired, too, tired of her schedule changing and last-minute radio gigs and of being in a constant state of _missyoumissyoumissyou_ , tired of feeling it radiate through her.

 

Maybe she should have known that it would never last like she wanted it to, that with all the added obstacles, it was always going to be impossible.

 

++

 

 _Tour buses are fun in theory_ , Zayn thinks, pressed into her bunk, _but less fun in practice_.

 

They’re driving through the English countryside, and Zayn’s reminded of the Harry Potter movies as she looks out a nearby window, trees rushing past. She wishes this car could fly.

 

“Hey,” Liam says, resting her chin on the bottom edge of Zayn’s bunk as she walks by.

 

“Hey,” Zayn says, looking up from her phone to Liam’s obvious puppy-dog face.

 

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that,” Zayn whines, reaching out to flick Liam’s nose. Her hair’s growing back in from when she chopped it into a short pixie cut last year, almost down to her chin now, and Liam runs her fingers through it out of habit.

 

“Like what? I’m not looking at you like anything.” Liam says innocently, and Zayn rolls her eyes.

 

“Like I’m a porcelain doll about to break into a thousand pieces.” Zayn says, and Liam grins.

 

“I know you’re not going to break. You’re you.” Liam says, and Zayn raises her eyebrows.

 

“You’re tough, that’s what I’m saying.” Liam says as Louis walks by, and Louis rolls her eyes.

 

“Don’t go crazy, there, Payne. She cried at that video of the deer adopting the kitten a few weeks ago.” Louis says, winking at Zayn before walking off.

 

“Fuck off,” Zayn calls after her, and Louis laughs.

 

“Look, I know you’re gonna be okay, but, if you want to talk.” Liam says, shrugging. Zayn nods.

 

“The rest of them don’t...I understand what you’re going through, that’s all. A little bit, at least. Hasn’t been that long since me and Dan broke up.” Liam says, and Zayn nods again, reaching down to muss Liam’s hair.

 

“Thanks, mum.” She says, but it’s not all that mocking. She needs to call her mum soon, actually, she reminds herself.

 

Liam rolls her eyes, but reaches out to squeeze Zayn’s hand before walking away.

 

“Love you forever!” Zayn calls out after her, and Liam turns around to smile at her before joining Louis’ game of FIFA.

 

She doesn’t talk to Liam, though. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to burden her; after all, it has only been a month since she and Dan broke off. She’s not quite ready for emotional heart-to-hearts about love lost and all that bullshit.

 

At night, Harry crawls into her bunk, her long legs knocking against Zayn’s as she cuddles in close.

 

“Do you still love her?” Harry asks, running her hands through Zayn’s hair.

 

“Of course I do. You know that wasn’t why.” Zayn says, shaking her head.

 

“Yeah. I do. ‘M sorry, Zayn.” Harry says, wrapping her arms around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn’s reminded of those nights in the bungalow when they shared a bed, Zayn feeling awkward and Harry lacking inhibitions.

 

Harry starts coming into her bunk every night, taking one of Zayn’s earbuds if she’s listening to music, and listening along without complaint. Or they’ll talk about home, about the people they miss, with the both of them tiptoeing around Perrie’s name.

 

“I missed this.” Harry says one night, pressed against Zayn’s back, and she turns around to give Harry a questioning look.

 

“It’s never just us, is it?” Harry says, and Zayn grins.

 

“Guess not.” Zayn replies, and she can feel Harry smile against the nape of her neck.

 

++

 

They’re somewhere in Europe when Harry climbs into her bunk and Zayn has to furiously wipe the tears out of her eyes, her face hot and her nose running. Harry frowns, reaching down to push Zayn’s fringe out of her eyes.

 

“You okay?” Harry asks, and Zayn nods, sniffling.

 

“Homesick,” Zayn says, and her fingers tighten on her little brother’s stuffed bear, the one she found in her bag and didn’t have the heart to ship back.

 

Harry nods, sitting next to Zayn and grabbing her hand, their fingers slotted together.

 

She remembers the interview they did right after X-Factor, when one of them said they all have group cries with buckets of ice cream. It wasn’t far from the truth, back then, all of them huddled around whoever was hurting, trying to make it better any way that they could. It was Harry, usually, too young to process the shit they were forced to process, wide-eyed and optimistic as Zayn and Louis felt themselves getting more cynical by the day. Liam would bring the ice cream, or a pizza intended for about ten people, and Niall would eat almost all of it, the five of them squashed together on a small sofa, watching an idiotic comedy to try to make themselves feel better.

 

It’s more subtle now, they know when to give each other their space. Well, most of them do; Harry’s the exception, always the exception. No matter what, she still hugs you until you don’t feel like crying anymore, not talking, just not leaving.

 

Zayn’s calm again, warm in her bunk with her eyes dry, one hand on the teddy bear that smelled of home and one hand in Harry’s.

 

Harry lies down beside her, her arm stretching across Zayn, and Zayn watches her eyes close, is reminded of when she was eighteen and the same sight made her heart jump to her throat.

 

++

 

They’re pissed, the two of them, Harry tripping over her high heels as they stumble into her sparse flat in London.

 

“Dunno why you wear those, y’r tall enough ‘lready.” Zayn slurs, pointing to Harry’s stilettos, the ones that make her about a full foot taller than Zayn, even in her heels.

 

Harry giggles, reaching down to pull the straps off and almost falling over.

 

“Tonight was fun,” Harry says, a pleased grin on her face as she flops down onto her sofa.

 

“Yeah.” Zayn says, curling up next to Harry, feeling comfortable.

 

“Jus’ wanted to make you feel better. You’ve been so sad,” Harry says, and Zayn sighs.

 

“I’ve been okay. Loved her. Jus’ didn’t work out. It’s better now.” Zayn says, and she feels Harry run a hand through her hair, twisting the blonde bit in the front between her fingers. Harry makes a noise like she’s about to say something, but closes her mouth again, looking conflicted.

 

“Hm?” Zayn says, reaching up to Harry’s hand to hold it with her own. Harry’s slender fingers slot between hers, and she squeezes Zayn’s hand as if on instinct.

 

“Nothing. Just. Are you over her, d’you think?” Harry asks, and Zayn raises her eyebrows.

 

She thinks about it. She thinks about Perrie, the soft memories of them together, of the way her pale skin looked next to Zayn’s tattoos, and there’s a dull ache there, but not the sharp pain there used to be when they first split. God, when did they even split? Months ago? She can’t remember, her brain fuzzy.

 

“Yeah. I reckon so. Mostly.” Zayn says finally, and Harry nods. Zayn sits up, curled up in Harry’s lap, and puts her arms out to hug her.

 

“Thanks for taking me out.” Zayn says, and she can feel Harry giggle.

 

“Yeah. Jus’ wanted to make you feel better. Feel good.” Harry says, reaching out to tuck Zayn’s hair back where it was falling in her face, and something in Harry’s words make Zayn’s stomach flip. It’s her voice, low and scratchy and falling over the words with purpose; if the phrase was intended with innocent, it was a lost cause.

 

She picks herself up more, so that she can shift her legs to the outside of Harry’s, making her tight dress ride up.

 

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, barely more than a breath, and Harry licks her lips, biting at her bottom lip as she looks at Zayn.

 

“Yeah. Always just wanna make you feel good.” Harry says. Her broad hands are still on Zayn’s shoulders, but they slide down to her waist, and Harry giggles again.

 

“What?” Zayn asks, pulled out of the moment, and Harry just shakes her head.

 

“You’re so fuckin’ little, your - your waist.” Harry says, tightening her grip on Zayn, and Zayn grins.

 

“Or maybe your hands are just too big.” Zayn says, and it gets Harry started on a fresh wave of laughter.

 

“They’re a good size for some things.” Harry says, and Zayn smirks.

 

“Yeah? What?” Zayn asks in a breathy voice, glancing down at Harry’s pink-from-lipstick lips, suddenly overcome with the warmth of her and the smell of her perfume and the feeling of her hands tight on Zayn’s waist.

 

“Y’wanna find out, love?” Harry all but whispers, her hand trailing down to Zayn’s thigh, to push up her little black dress the rest of the way.

 

She said it like a pick-up line, corny but sexy in a way that only Harry can pull off, but she’s looking at Zayn intently, actually waiting for permission, and Zayn huffs out a laugh.

 

“Always so polite.” Zayn says before reaching down to move Harry’s hand to the inside of her thigh. Harry grins at her slowly, inching her fingers up to the band of Zayn’s thong. She raises her eyebrows, asking permission again, and Zayn rolls her eyes.

 

“Christ’s sake, Styles. Just fuck me.” Zayn says impatiently, surging forward to catch Harry’s lips against her own.

 

Harry’s still grinning when she kisses her and it should be awkward, but it’s not. It’s not awkward because it’s _Harry_ , and everything about the kiss so overwhelmingly Harry. Her hot breath that tastes like those fruity drinks she’s been drinking all night, her occasional grins into Zayn’s mouth, everything.

 

“Wait, not here. Wanna fuck you properly.” Harry says, pulling away from Zayn and actually picking her up to move them to Harry’s bedroom. For a second Zayn thinks Harry might actually throw her over her shoulder (she certainly has the strength to do), but it passes, and Zayn wraps her legs around Harry’s long torso as she carries her.

 

Harry practically throws her onto the bed, and Zayn tries not to think about how much it turns her on, instead focusing on Harry pulling off her short sequined dress in one fluid motion, revealing her lack of undergarments.

 

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters, reaching down to pull her own dress off. Before she even puts it aside Harry’s hands are on her, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra quickly.

 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Harry’s muttering, running her hands down Zayn’s sides, her eyes scanning her up and down, and Zayn grins.

 

“Y’gonna do something or just talk all night?” Zayn asks, but her grin fades at the look on Harry’s face, all her playful flirting replaced with a soft, earnest look that makes Zayn feel a little weak.

 

“What d’you want me to do, then?” Harry asks, running a hand from Zayn’s collarbones to her navel, but painfully slowly. They’d seen each other naked before, hundreds of times, but the way Harry was looking down her body, it was like she wanted to memorize it.

 

“I want you to go down on me.” Zayn says easily, and Harry grins.

 

“‘Kay.” Harry says, looking pleased as she moves to sit between Zayn’s thighs. Her legs are tan, a result of days spent sunbathing before shows with Louis, and they’re longer than Zayn remembers them being as she folds them, settling herself between Zayn’s legs. Zayn loses focus on her legs when Harry moves up to kiss her, deep and sweet and slow while her hands move to her chest, thumbs touching lightly (too lightly) at her nipples.

 

She can already tell, Harry’s big on this, on the lead-up. Knowing her, it’s not surprising, she guesses; she’s surprised there isn’t some slow jam playing, rose petals lying around the bed at all times.

 

She moves away from Zayn’s mouth to kiss down her neck, licking across the script on her collarbone, leaning over to bite at one of her skulls. She spends ages licking at Zayn’s nipples, to the point that Zayn’s squirming and breathing heavily before Harry’s mouth gets anywhere near her hips.

 

“Fuck, get on with it,” Zayn finally huffs, and Harry grins into her skin, kissing quickly down her stomach. She stops just before the waistband of her panties, her hot breath on Zayn’s skin making her shiver. Just before Zayn resorts to scolding her again, Harry leans down and bites at the thin band, pulling it down with her teeth. Zayn inhales sharply as Harry’s teeth hit the sensitive skin just under her belly, and Harry grins.

 

She should look ridiculous, grinning wide with Zayn’s panties hanging from her teeth, but Zayn twists her hand in the sheets below her at the sight of Harry’s swollen lips, pupil-blown eyes. She tosses them across the room, moves her hands to the insides of Zayn’s thighs to spread her legs further, and then all Zayn can see is her mess of brown curls between her thighs.

 

Harry kisses up the inside of her thighs, going devastatingly slow the closer she gets to where Zayn needs her to be. Her fingers move to open Zayn up, so she can lick a slow stripe up her while Zayn whines below her, her hips stuttering at the brief contact with her clit.

 

It goes on for too long, Harry teasing her with light touches and kisses before she finally pulls up to look at Zayn, a smirk playing at her wet lips as she puts two fingers between them, wetting them with spit. Zayn moans quietly without realizing, and Harry’s smirk spreads as she reaches down and slides them inside of her.

 

Zayn feels herself clench around Harry and Harry laughs quietly, leaning up to whisper in Zayn’s ear.

 

“You’re really desperate for it, yeah?” Harry asks, biting at her earlobe, and Zayn shivers.

 

“Yeah.” Zayn breathes, because if this isn’t the time to be honest, when is?

 

Harry just grins again, kissing her deeply before moving back down to finally lick at her clit, moving in small circles as Zayn makes choked noises, only half-aware of the sounds coming from her mouth.

 

After a few minutes she notices Harry’s other hand pressed between her own legs, her fingers moving deftly. It becomes more apparent when Harry is moaning as she sucks Zayn’s clit, the vibrations sending a shock through her and making her muscles clench. It only takes a few more of Harry’s louder moans and a third finger slipped in with the others to push her over the edge, her thighs tensing and hands twisted in Harry’s hair.

 

Harry laps up the mess, sitting up and wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

 

“C’mere,” Zayn says through her heavy breaths, and Harry crawls up to meet Zayn’s lips with her own.

 

Zayn winds a hand between them, reaching down to rub Harry’s clit in circles, and Harry gasps against Zayn’s mouth, rutting against Zayn’s hand. She’s already close, and the pressure of Zayn’s hand has her panting, whining into Zayn’s ear as she comes, going limp on top of Zayn and nuzzling into her neck.

 

“Want a smoke?” Zayn asks her, tracing the heart on her bicep idly.

 

Harry just nods, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s collarbone. Zayn reaches over to Harry’s bedside table where she knows she keeps a pack of Zayn’s favorites and grabs two, lighting her own and passing the unlit one to Harry. Harry leans into her to light it on her’s, and Zayn grins as she inhales, letting the tip shine bright.

 

Harry flops over to lie on her back next to Zayn, looking blissed as she exhales smoke.

 

“Well, that was something.” Harry comments, her voice rough, and Zayn laughs. She feels more sober than she remembers feeling before this, which is probably a good thing, she thinks.

 

“Yeah. Something.” Zayn says, turning on her side so she can curl against Harry, holding her cigarette in her mouth.

 

“Y’wanna know a secret?” Harry asks her.

 

“Mm?”

 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I was seventeen.” Harry says, and Zayn grins, a happy feeling of surprise spreading through her.

 

“How’d it live up to your expectations?” Zayn asks, turning away from Harry’s face to blow smoke.

 

“It exceeded them, definitely.” Harry says in her sleepy-slow voice. She’s only half-done with the cigarette but she leans over to the ash tray to put it out at the same time Zayn finishes her’s, a quicker smoker.

 

She falls asleep with Harry’s hand in her’s, her head resting on Harry’s chest, and it feels familiar and strange and good, in a way Zayn hasn’t felt in ages.

 

++

 

“Hey, Zee.” Zayn hears, but she just frowns and turns over. There’s sunlight harsh against her eyes and she tells herself to invest in some serious blinds, one of these days.

 

Then she remembers that she’s not at home, she’s in Harry’s giant bed, and that Harry likes the sun, so she doesn’t have blinds at all.

 

Then she remembers Harry. More specifically, she remembers the night before.

 

Harry must be sitting next to her, because she feels a hand reach out to pinch her nipple, and she makes a grumpy noise.

 

“What?” She says finally, her eyes still closed. It feels early. Zayn doesn’t want any part in anything that takes place in the morning.

 

“D’you want breakfast?” Harry asks her.

 

Zayn thinks for a minute, weighs the pros and cons. Wonders if she could get Harry to bring it to her in bed.

 

“Yeah. Ta, love.” Zayn says, turning over and pulling the comforter back up. Harry leans down and kisses her on the cheek and it all feels so sweet and domestic that Zayn has to bury her face in the pillow, feeling a blush creep up to her cheeks.

 

++

 

Turns out, she can get Harry to bring her breakfast in bed.

 

She’s finally willed herself to sit up and open her eyes, leaning back against the plush pillows of Harry’s bed when she walks in wearing nothing except her polka-dotted apron, holding a large tray of pancakes.

 

“Jesus,” Zayn mutters, but she can’t fight the smile off her face. Harry looks so happy, and it’s starting to make Zayn’s heart hurt.

 

She tells Harry so, and Harry just rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing.

 

“Don’t get big-headed, this is always what I look like after I get laid.” Harry says, kicking at Zayn, and Zayn just smirks, pouring maple syrup on her pancakes.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Louis shouts, shutting the door loudly and opening her arms wide as she walks through the doorway.

 

“Hey, Lou.” Harry says around a bite of pancakes, and Louis walks into the bedroom, looking suspicious. Zayn waves up at her, still naked under Harry’s comforter, and Louis narrows her eyes.

 

“Did you two fuck?” Louis asks, putting a hand on her hip, and Zayn shrugs.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Well, shit.” Louis says, looking excited.

 

“Liam’s gonna cry,” She says, walking out of the room and pulling her phone out.

 

“This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it?” Zayn asks, turning to Harry.

 

“I wouldn’t mind. If it was a thing.” Harry says, cutting her pancakes neatly.

 

“Yeah? What kind of thing?” Zayn asks, poking Harry with a finger covered in maple syrup.

 

“Dunno. Maybe a casual sex kind of thing. Maybe another kind of thing. Your call, love.” Harry says, wiping the maple syrup off her face and licking her finger.

 

“Is it alright if I make that call after I’m done eating? And have smoked a cigarette?” Zayn asks, and Harry grins.

 

“You’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

++

 

“So what’s it like, then? Dating one of your band mates?”

 

Zayn and Harry glance at each other, grinning. Alan Carr’s show, they knew, would be a slew of these questions, but it would be fun, right?

 

It’s their first interview as an official couple, as Liam kept reminding them all day, looking so fond that she might’ve been the head of the Zarry Fanclub.

 

“I know, I know, you don’t want to talk about it.” Alan says in an exaggerated accent, and Harry just shakes her head.

 

“They’re not going to say anything, the gits, but let me tell you, it’s _disgusting_.” Louis pipes up, getting a laugh from the studio audience.

 

“Yeah? How so?” Zayn leans out of line to ask Louis, and Louis rolls her eyes.

 

“Morning, love, want me to get that for you? Brush your hair for you? Feed you your breakfast?” Louis says in an imitation of Harry’s slow accent, and Niall laughs so hard she tips her head back.

 

“Oh, you two are in your honeymoon phase, then? Wouldn’t want to sleep on that tour bus.” Alan says, winking, and Harry looks torn between scandalized and amused.

 

“Alan! Get your mind out of the gutter, we’re just two innocent pop stars going on very innocent dates involving ice cream and hand-holding, nothing more.” Harry says, and Louis, Liam, and Niall all laugh a bit too hard.

 

“How long’ve you been together, then? When’s the anniversary? I’ll have a party for it, ‘round mine.” Alan says, and Zayn thinks back through a mental calendar.

 

“About three months?” Zayn says, looking at Harry for confirmation, and Harry nods.

 

“Sounds about right.” Harry says, and the audience aww’s.

  
“And your fans are all really supportive, yeah?”

 

“Well, all is a pretty strong generalization. But yeah, we’ve gotten a lot of support. The cool thing, the thing that I’ve gotten for a while, to some extent, is a lot of people telling us that, y’know, we inspired them? To come out, or whatever. That’s really cool.” Zayn says, and Niall grins at her, squeezing her thigh.

 

“Well, then. I never got any of that, let me tell you.” Alan says, a laugh sounding through the studio.

 

“Alright, enough about the boring marrieds, let’s talk about our new album.” Louis says, winking at Zayn, and Zayn grins.

 

++

 

She has this recurring dream that she’s having a conversation with an eighteen-year-old version of herself. Her skin’s free of tattoos, her hair is long and pin-straight, there’s no hole in her nose or her bellybutton and she’s a little hard to recognize, if Zayn is being honest.

 

“Do I win the X Factor?” Her younger self asks, and she just smiles.

 

“Nah. Doesn’t matter though. You get everything. Everything you want and don’t want right now, you get it.” She says.

 

“Even...?”

 

“Yeah. Especially that. And she’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”

 

++

 

They get Pink Floyd tattoos together one day when they’re stoned. Something about the album meaning “so much” to Harry, and Zayn thinks it looks cool, so she shrugs, pointing to an empty spot on her inner bicep.

 

She remembers holding a tattoo gun steady in her own hand to do Harry’s first stick-and-poke tattoo, the tiny A that she traces over sometimes when they’re lying in bed.

 

She remembers the look of absolute trust that Harry gave her, her warm eyes and nervous smile, and it’s not very different from the one Harry gives her when they wake up, sleepy and squashed together in too-small beds.

 

Basically, she thinks, looking down at the dumb Pink Floyd tattoo on Harry’s arm when they’re all lying on the giant bed in the middle of the tour bus together, Harry in her lap, basically. Basically she can’t imagine being more comfortable than she is right now, Harry’s bony ass in her lap, Niall chewing too loudly beside her, Louis taking up far too much room on the sofa, and Liam bickering with her about it. She just can’t.

 


End file.
